


The Scale of Things

by Miya_Morana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys drive off to investigate mysterious earthquakes and animals disappearing , with no idea of the scale of what they'll discover</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scale of Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for entangled_now's birthday back in 2010. Bet-ed by morganoconner.

“There have been unusual earthquakes and animals keep mysteriously disappearing in Californ–”

“Earthquakes are common in California Sammy,” Dean cuts him, opening the fridge to grab a beer. “If you’re looking for an excuse to go to LA, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Sam glares at his brother. “Will you let me finish?”

Dean uncaps his beer, rolls his eyes and makes a vague gesture in Sam’s direction that’s supposed to mean ‘go on, then’.

“I was referring to the town of California in Missouri.”

“Earthquakes in Missouri?” Dean looks genuinely surprised, which is kind of insulting, Sam think.

“And animals disappearing. Cats, dogs, cattle, sheep... local authorities think they’re being stolen, but they actually don’t have a clue what’s happening. And the earthquake thing is baffling the experts.

“Huh, sounds like something for us I guess. Any idea on what it could be?”

Sam bites his lip. This is going to sound insane. “I was thinking maybe a group of trolls could account for...” He trails of, because yeah, Dean’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Trolls? Really Sam? Do you know how long it’s been since anyone saw a troll in this part of the world, let alone a _group of them_?”

Sam shrugs, like he doesn’t have a better idea. Whatever Dean may think, he’s still going to borrow a few books on trolls from Bobby before they leave for Missouri.

***

They pose as reporters from the Weekly World News again. It’s a very useful cover, it allows them to ask the weirdest questions without rousing anyone’s suspicions, and people kind of expect them to be there, snooping around, when there is something like freak earthquakes and cattle disappearing going on.

Except that none of the scientists who invaded the town to try and understand the phenomenon want to be caught dead talking with reporters from the tabloid.

“What do you need expert opinions for anyway?” one of them had asked. “Aren’t you just going to say it’s aliens trying to communicate with the gators in the sewers?”

“Does the seismic activity originate from the town’s sewers?” Sam had asked, frowning.

“Of course not!” The scientist had then stormed off, muttering something about ignorant lunatics and waste of perfectly good paper.

And now they’re stranded in their crappy motel room, with still no clue to what is going on, and Dean’s whining about how there isn’t even a damn Chinese take-out in this town, or a den of iniquity -which has Sam raising an intrigued eyebrow at him, because _den of iniquity_ doesn’t really sound like a Dean phrase to him.

“Listen,” Sam cuts through his brother’s endless moaning. “The biggest earthquakes seem to be happening in the middle of the night. I suggest we try and get a few hours sleep and then we head for the meadows where most of the cattle and sheep have been disappearing.”

Fortunately Dean doesn’t argue too much, and they get into bed, hoping the small tremors they’ve felt now and then since they arrived in town don’t prevent them from sleeping too much.

***

“Seriously Sammy, we’ve been here two hours now. There’s nothing out there, just fields and cows and sheep. It’s freezing, let’s go back to town, okay?”

They’re leaning against the Impala, a flashlight in one hand and a beer bottle in the other, a few miles outside of town. It’s not really freezing, but the air is a bit cold at three in the morning. They’ve only felt the now usual small tremors, and Sam is seriously considering heading back to the motel when it starts.

It’s just like all the other mini-earthquakes at first, but it slowly grows stronger and stronger. It feels like the ground is shifting underneath them, and small rocks are shaking on the dirt road they’re on in the ray of their flashlights.

There’s the sound of stomping hooves and mooing cows from about half a mile away, the sound carrying far in the empty countryside. The brothers jump into the car and drive as fast as the can on the shaking dirt road.

When they get there the cows are panicking, running in circles inside the electrified fences surrounding the meadow. The ground is shaking even more here as they carefully but swiftly jump over the fence and run in the direction the cows seem to be avoiding in their panicked run.

There’s a hole in the ground. It’s about five feet wide and the earth is all cracked around it. It also seems to be slowly closing: the edges are progressively moving, like the hole is slowly knitting itself shut. The brothers exchange a wary look before Sam hands over his flashlight to Dean and lowers himself into the gaping opening.

Dean hands him over his flashlight (more like drops it on him, really) and Sam examines his new surroundings. “It’s like some sort of tunnel down here,” he calls out.

“Are the walls closing in on you?” Dean’s voice sounds more curious than worried, and if he were down there with him instead of safely above ground level Sam would hit him in the arm.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“I’ll get a shovel, make sure this stays open. You okay taking a look by yourself?”

Sam shrugs, then remembers Dean probably can’t see him well enough to take that as an answer. “I’ll make do.”

He gets his revolver out of the back of his jeans, checks the ammunition and then points it in front of him along with the flashlight. Then, carefully, he makes his way deeper into the tunnel.

It’s dark and damp, and the ground keeps shaking slightly, making dirt fall and catch in Sam’s hair. Maybe Dean’s right, he thinks, maybe he _should_ cut it. He’s not letting his brother do it this time, though. Sam won’t make the same mistake twice.

The tunnel takes a sharp left turn, and suddenly it’s much larger - and going down in a steep slope. Sam’s feet slip on the wet ground and he tumbles downwards, fast. He lands in a puddle of water, nose buried in the mud. The flashlight is rolling two feet from him, miraculously still working, casting its light in the vast cave he’s now in.

There’s a rumble, the ground shaking under what sounds like gigantic footsteps. Sam raises his head. And then blinks. Because he _cannot_ be seeing what he’s seeing.

Making its way towards where the hunter is trying to get back on his feet, there’s a big, red, impossible _dragon_.

The thing is about the size of a small elephant, an elephant that looks like a giant lizard, head moving at the end of its long neck, deadly, blood-covered teeth clashing as it groans. Its body is covered by small, shiny scales reflecting the faint light from the torch light. Thin, delicate-looking wings spring from its back, neatly folded around the creature. Its intelligent yellow eyes are slitted like a cat’s.

It takes Sam a few seconds to realize that he can hear _words_ underneath the clashing of teeth. As the beast closes the distance between them, Sam throws his hands up in the air, shouting. “Wait! I’m not here to harm you, I swear!”

The dragon’s open mouth stops a mere few inches away from the hunter, and Sam can feel its reeking breath against his face.

***

“So,” Sam says, sitting cross-legged on the wet ground of the cave, facing one of the most incredible beings he’s ever seen, “you’ve been sleeping for hundreds of years, but the recent, kick-ass earthquake two weeks ago woke you up before the time had come? But how come you speak perfect English?”

The deep rumble of the dragon’s voice makes Sam’s chest vibrates. “I do not speak your tongue, human, but my powers help your mind translate my words into ones you understand.” The creature is currently picking through its teeth with the spikes adorning the tip of its tail. Apparently, raw cow meat easily gets stuck between pointy teeth.

“Okay,” Sam says, carefully storing the information, “neat trick.” He’s still a bit afraid of the dragon, though it has promised it wouldn’t eat him. Sam has no idea if dragons keep their words or not. “And, um, when would have been the proper time to wake up, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The dragon makes a strange noise in the back of its throat, and Sam braces himself, though he doesn’t know for what. When nothing happens, he relaxes a little bit.

“The proper time will be when the Great King with the Sword comes back and wakes us all,” the dragon declares. As if it answered everything, when it only makes Sam want to ask a thousand new questions.

He settles on one. “ ‘Wakes you all’? How many of you _are_ there?” Because if they’re about to have to deal with a dragon army, he’d like to get a head’s up.

“We used to be thousands, but the sons of men hunted us down. When the Great King with the Sword told us to go to sleep, we were only a hundred left. We scattered around the world and went deep underground to sleep and dream of when we’d walk the world again.”

Sam nods, partly relieved. Though a hundred dragons could probably create quite a bit of havoc, chances are the other ones are still asleep.

“Who is this king with a sword you keep talking about? Does he have a name?” Sam thinks he already knows the answer to that one, though.

“Humans call him Arthurus,” the dragon confirms. King Arthur. The Great King with the Sword. He was real. It probably means Excalibur is real too. And what about Avalon, and fairies and all that? The dragon makes a strange, hacking sound, and it takes Sam a few seconds to realize the creature is _laughing_.

“What?” Sam crosses is arms on his chest. He’s pretty sure the dragon is mocking him, which is a tiny bit vexing.

“I just had a glimpse of your mind, your thoughts were so loud,” the creature chuckles. “Your conception of fairies is hilarious!” It starts laughing again, more openly this time, a roaring sound that echoes in the cave. 

“Then what are they like, really?” Sam asks, half curious, half sulking.

It takes the dragon a minute to calm down. Then it looks at Sam from the corner of its eye, and takes a few steps back. “They look like this,” it says, and takes a deep in-breath.

When the dragon breathes out, bright orange and red flames come out of its mouth, twisting and twirling, slowly taking a fluid shape. The fiery figure is tall and big and strong, with giant dragon wings springing from its back. The thing is moving with a feline grace, a deadly hunter, before the flames forming it untangle and disappear, leaving the cave much darker in the artificial light of Sam’s flashlight.

There’s a long silence. Sam’s is shocked, amazed, in awe. The dragon’s is somewhat smug. The creature is looking at Sam the same way cats look at you from their perch on the sofa back, like it knows so many things you don’t. Which, in this case, is probably true.

When the silence becomes uncomfortable, Sam clears his throat. “So, um, why didn’t you just go back to sleep when you realized you woke up early?”

The dragon suddenly looks... flustered? Embarrassed? It absentmindedly starts drawing circles in the ground with its mighty claws. When it talks, it’s carefully not looking at Sam.

“I... cannot.” The dragon pauses, steals a look at the hunter then averts its eyes again. Its voice is a low hesitant rumble. “I’ve never been able to sleep without someone singing to me.”

Sam doesn’t know if he’s allowed to laugh, but his survival instinct tells him not to. He clears his throat again. “Um, maybe I could...” How the heck do you ask a dragon if it wants you to sing it a lullaby?

The dragon looks up at Sam with something like hope in its shining yellow eyes. “You would do that for me? You would let your voice ring into my ears, let me hear your soul in it, let me know you, know all there is to know about you? You would let my soul touch yours, let me share your dreams until the end of your human life?”

Sam is kinda struck by the scale of what singing to a dragon implies. But then, can he really let this creature stay here, in a time not made for it? The scientists trumping the surface are bound to find it eventually, and God only knows what’ll happen then. Sharing his dreams with a mythical creature cannot be _that_ bad, can it? After having Lucifer in his head, Sam thinks he can make do with pretty much everything.

Slowly, he nods.

The dragon bows its giant head. “I cannot express enough how grateful I am. Here, have this. It should bring you protection against magic, as well as good luck.” With its long, sharp claws, the dragon dislodges a bright scale on its left side and hands it to Sam. It’s about the size of the hunter’s hand, red and shiny, softly thrumming with power.

“Thanks,” Sam whispers reverently. He places it carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket. Meanwhile, the dragon is curling on the cave floor, its long tail wrapping around it. The wings flap twice before they settle again, and the dragon’s piercing stare is set on Sam, expectantly. 

Sam clears his throat, trying to think of an appropriate lullaby. He settles on the song Dean used to sing to him when he was little and their Dad was away on a hunt.

“ _In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man..._ ” 

So, okay, Led Zeppelin might not have been most people’s first choice of dragon lullaby, but it seems to work. The dragon’s eyes fall shut, its tail batting slowly in time with the melody until it settles down near the creature’s muzzle. Its breathing deepens until Sam reaches the end of the last verse.

Sam looks at the dragon whose soul just touched his, all curled up and asleep. He knows his name now, an impossible word no human throat could ever pronounce, but that roughly translates as...

“Red-Scaled Kitten?” he chuckles, shaking his head. He smiles, reaches with his hand to gently pet the dragon’s head. “Friend, I cannot _wait_ to share my dreams with you..” Then, with a last look at the mighty creature, Sam makes his way back up to his brother and a world that doesn’t know what’s fast asleep under its soil.


End file.
